


Better Out Than In

by Goldy



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Unresolved Sexual Tension, a little bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:09:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldy/pseuds/Goldy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>If Rose hadn’t been on her hands and knees and puking into a toilet, she might have smacked him.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Out Than In

**Title** : Better Out Than In  
 **Pairing** : Ten/Rose, late S2  
 **Summary** : _If Rose hadn’t been on her hands and knees and puking into a toilet, she might have smacked him._  
 **Rating** : PG  
 **Word Count** : 1,300  
 **A/N** : [](http://mylittlepwny.livejournal.com/profile)[**mylittlepwny**](http://mylittlepwny.livejournal.com/) requested Ten/Rose, carnival, Italy for [the stump the author meme](http://goldy-dollar.livejournal.com/442985.html). I'm not really sure how "carnival" led my brain to "vomit" but I'm convinced that if anyone could make throwing up cute, it would be the Doctor and Rose.

Thanks to [](http://shinyopals.livejournal.com/profile)[**shinyopals**](http://shinyopals.livejournal.com/) for betaing and not defriending me when I send her weird emails requesting British synonyms for the word "vomit."

Rose’s stomach heaved as another wave of nausea tore through her and she scrambled back over the toilet bowl, throat burning as she vomited. Cool hands held her hair back, and a soft voice said, “Whoa, there. How much _did_ you drink?”

If Rose hadn’t been on her hands and knees and puking into a toilet, she might have smacked him.

Finally, her stomach came to an uneasy rest and Rose slowly released her grip on the toilet bowl. Shuddering, she tried to rise to her feet before losing her balance and falling backwards. The Doctor caught her around the waist and then gently lowered them both to the floor.

All right, Rose thought—maybe she _wouldn’t_ slap him. She slowly felt herself begin to relax and her head lolled back, resting on the Doctor’s chest.

He gave her a gentle squeeze around the middle. “Twenty-third century alcohol—bit different than what you’re used to, eh?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Rose said, throat and nose still stinging. “There was a time when I’d spend most Saturday nights doing this.”

“What, throwing up in the loo?”

“No... well, sort of,” Rose said. “Me and my mate Shareen, yeah? We’d spend hours getting dressed up and then hit up the clubs, dancing and drinking until the morning. Of course, back then...”

Rose paused, reluctant to share that part of her life with the Doctor. She didn't want him to know about the years she spent trailing after Jimmy Stone and of his fumbling hands in the back seat of his car when she was too plastered to walk straight. It had felt like the biggest romance of her life at the time, but now it made her cringe.

“What?” asked the Doctor.

“Didn’t have a TARDIS, now did I?” said Rose. “Just plain old twenty-first century London clubs. It wasn’t like this... all the colours and aliens and... and the food. Oh my _god_ , the food.”

The Doctor made a humming noise of agreement, but then said, “And still not a wise idea to mix drinks, Rose Tyler.”

“Still not a wise idea to mix drinks,” Rose agreed.

“C’mon,” said the Doctor. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He helped her to her feet and Rose stilled when she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her face was pale and her lips chapped and white, but she was still wearing her Carnival mask—a small black, plastic thing that covered her eyes. There was a red feather that stuck out of one end and an elastic band that fit around the back of her head. She'd felt different with it on-like she was a more exciting, more adventurous version of Rose Tyler. She had felt like she could have danced all night.

Of course, all the drinking might have had something to do with her mood. “Lowers inhibitions,” the Doctor commented dryly at one point, eyeing the other partygoers like they might sweep in and take her away from him. She’d smiled sweetly at him—a part of her thrilled to see him getting jealous. But she hadn't wanted to dance with anyone else. Maybe she would have a few years back… but that felt like a long time ago.

She tugged off the mask and chucked it into the rubbish bin. Somehow returning to the party was not at all enticing.

She turned on the tap, leaning over to rinse out her mouth. The Doctor flushed the toilet and then ambled over next to her, smiling at her in a way that always made her stomach flutter. It was hard to believe that he’d just finished watching her hurl the entire contents of her stomach into the toilet.

“Toothbrush?” Rose said hopefully.

“Oh—” said the Doctor. He patted down his pockets before pulling one out of his suit, proudly handing it over to her. “Venutian spearmint. _And_ it fights cavities.”

Rose grinned at him. “Thanks.”

The Doctor watched her as she brushed her teeth. Normally Rose would have felt self-conscious, but she suspected he was worried she might start throwing up again. She wasn’t _that_ drunk—at least, not anymore. Mum always said that the best way to avoid a hangover was to get it all out the night before.

She spat toothpaste into the sink, relieved to rinse the taste of vomit out of her mouth. Then she handed the toothbrush back to the Doctor who stared at it for a moment before shrugging and placing it back inside his pocket.

She turned around a bit too quickly and sucked in a sharp breath—reaching for the sink to steady herself. All right, maybe she was still a little light-headed.

The Doctor watched her with a smug smirk that did funny things to her insides. She ineffectively poked him in the chest, feigning annoyance.

“Yeah, ‘cos you’re not feeling buzzed at all, are you?”

The Doctor caught her hand. “Nope!”

Rose snorted. “I saw you downing those newfangled twenty-third century Rattlesnake shots with the best of them. Also—” she leaned in closer to him. “You _danced_.”

He caught her eyes, smirk widening. “Only with you.” Rose barely had time to decipher what _that_ meant before he added, “Besides, I’m a Time Lord—I can neutralize the effects of alcohol in my system just by firing certain synapses in my brain.”

Rose studied him suspiciously. “I’m gonna look this up in the TARDIS library tomorrow.”

The Doctor shrugged, trying to look unconcerned, but there was a promising glint in his eyes. “Speaking of the TARDIS, we should probably... what are you doing?”

Rose sat back down on the floor and she tugged on the Doctor’s hand for him to come join her. “Resting,” she informed him. She leaned her head back against the white tile with a soft _clunk_. “I just threw up about a week’s worth of food, you know.”

“I did notice,” said the Doctor, but he settled down next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“It’d be nice if the world would stop spinning,” said Rose, pressing her face against his chest and fighting down another wave of nausea. She didn’t add that what she’d _really_ wanted was another cuddle.

The Doctor’s hand moved in small patterns over her back and Rose hugged him tightly. She loved it when it was like this—just her and the Doctor—like it was just the two of them in the whole universe even when they were in a market packed full of other people.

The Doctor swallowed, and then he said, “Rose?”

There was something serious in his voice—a tone that she couldn’t quite place. She raised her head. “Yeah?” He was staring at her intently like he was trying to see right through her. It sent a jolt through her heart and she suddenly thought that he might kiss her.

One of his hands moved to her cheek (her heart pounded so loud that she was sure he could hear it) (and oh god, oh god, she’d just been throwing up all over him—what if the toothpaste hadn’t done a good enough job?) and then he was leaning in, breath whispering over her chin—

There was knock on the door. “Oi, you two! Some of us have got to use the loo, yeah?”

The Doctor released her like she’d burned him and sprang to his feet. “Right, sorry,” he called back. He raked a hand through his hair. “We’re nearly done here.”

Rose slowly stood up, using the wall for support. “We’ll be out in a minute!” she snapped, trying to ignore how flustered she sounded.

The Doctor settled his gaze on her, his lips turning up in a small smile. “Sorry about that,” he said quietly. Rose had a feeling he was talking about more than her getting sick. He held out a hand. “The TARDIS isn’t too far away. Think you can make it?”

“Stumbling home drunk in heels?” said Rose. She took his hand. “After life with you, this is an _easy_ night.” 


End file.
